


Penile Problems

by ladykiki



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: 4+1, Anthropomorphism - Freeform, Crack, Hallucinations, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykiki/pseuds/ladykiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"4 times the penis of a team member became sentient and one time Sosa's penis - wait. Erm. Pike's eyebrows became sentient.</p>
<p>"... sentient caterpillars and tried to crawl off his face and face's hair got jealous and the kraken waved at passers-by and i'm gonna shut up now, i seriously need sleep. Feel free to ignore everything but the first half of the first sentence in this prompt. good night..."</p>
<p>Or Murdock has some unexpected encounters, of the kind that almost certainly didn't really happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounter 1: The Kraken

**Author's Note:**

> I claim temporary insanity, not just for writing this but for somehow thinking it was a good idea to post this here. I know not what I do.

Murdock didn’t blush easily or often. He’d lost most of his social inhibitions somewhere between sock puppet Shakespeare and sponge baths, because it didn’t matter if he was giving a treatise on alien abductions or streaking at the supermarket – people were still going to give him that look, that look he’d been getting his whole life. But he was pretty sure he was blushing now.

Bossman was hung.

And, okay, he’d know that – objectively – for ages, because Bossman subscribed to the Good for the Goose philosophy and so didn’t shy away from sharing the showers with his men after missions. But he’d never seen it quite like this before. He wondered how hard he’d have to beg the aliens to rewind time for him. 

“You all right, Captain?”

Murdock dragged his eyes from his colonel’s generous dick, away from that smooth, swollen head poking through the open crotch of his BDUs, and did his best to meet the man’s eyes. “Fine, Colonel.”

He couldn’t quite manage it, his stubborn occuli drifting past Hannibal’s shoulder to focus on Face’s suntan oil. And that was a mistake because it brought to mind broad expanses of exposed flesh and taut abs and he’d have thought Face would want that with him if he was going to bake in the sun. 

Maybe that meant he’d be back soon.

“In which case you can fuck him through the floor.”

“Huh?” Wide eyes darted back to Hannibal, catching a twitch from the Kraken out of the corner of his eye that might have been a smile.

“I said, Captain—” Murdock cringed as Hannibal put his hands on his hips. “—that you can always come to me if something’s bothering you.”

“I’ve found a good fuck does wonders for clearing the head.”

“I—” Murdock twitched at the growled addendum to the colonel’s proclamation. He couldn’t think about where it had come from because it was already way too hot, in here and out there, and he couldn’t look past the man because his stance put his asset on rather prominent display, just—Murdock swallowed hard and looked at the floor, then nodded vigorously. “I know that, sir. I do. I d—I will keep that foremost in my mind, Colonel. Absolutely.” Just leave now, please, please, pretty please. . . .

He really hoped the Colonel got the brainwaves he was throwing out because he’d come here to be alone and, okay, maybe the team’s quarters wasn’t the best choice of hideout – maybe he’d have had better luck camping out in his chopper, which he’d have to remember for next time – but it wasn’t like any of them spent time here during the day, any more than they needed to, so that meant Hannibal was still standing in front of him purely for spite. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened with Lieutenant Sosa this morning, son?”

Murdock closed his eyes and wished he could just phase through the bed, just melt into it and through it and disappear, because of course Sosa would have taken the incident to his Commanding Officer. Since, you know, she was a strong, proper, up-standing member of the armed forces supporting Uncle Sam, safe-guarding it from the evils of terrorists and homosexual crazies. 

Not that, supposedly, she knew about the gayness, so it was only the crazies she was waging quiet war against. 

And it really kind of figured in a sucky way that Hannibal would invoke the father-ness when all he really wanted to do was jump anything—everything—that moved and hump it through next week. But that wasn’t a conversation they needed to be having. He’d had that one with his grandfather when he was thirteen, thanks, and that kind of awkward didn’t need to be repeated, so he just kept staring at the floor and didn’t answer. 

“You know nothing you say leaves this room, HM.”

“Would it help if I said I wanted to fuck you through the mattress?”

Murdock twitched, swallowed hard. “Just wasn’t payin’ attention, Bossman.” He half-looked up, through his lashes, to see if that was gonna be explanation enough, and had to clench every muscle he owned to keep from squirming under that piercing blue gaze. It closed up his throat and stopped his breath, but that was probably for the best since what he wanted to say, in that moment, was that he’d thought Sosa had asked if he wanted to ride her dick tonight and hadn’t realized until he answered that she hadn’t really asked. That he hoped to have plans tonight, and would the Boss be interested in participating?

While he played opossum, he practiced sending out vibes again. Go away, go away, go away. . . .

Hannibal frowned, then nodded fractionally. “All right, son. I’ll straighten it out. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Like my dick in your ass.”

Murdock swallowed hard and closed his eyes, then forced a smile. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll remember that, absolutely.”

As Hannibal left, and took the Kraken with him, he exhaled shakily and wondered just how much pain it’d cost to get his meds changed, because this. This was too weird, even for him.


	2. Little Soldier

Murdock was floating.

“Wake up, crazy.”

At least, that was what it felt like until he floated high enough to feel something solid against his back.

“You still owe me for putting me on that plane.”

It took a minute, and a lot of pulling and pushing and probing something that felt a lot like taffy to get his brain to resolve that first something (solid against his back) into a bed. By that time he was high enough to hear the rhythmic beeping and buzzing roar (plus sound effects) and feel the stiff pull in the back of his hand that meant he was in the hospital (no olfactory input required), hooked up to an IV and heart monitor, and his Guardian Angel was playing a video game.

“Need for Speed 2, man, not just a video game.”

He had to blink a few times to really focus, and even then it didn’t quite work. Everything was kind of fuzzy and blurred around the edges, and it stretched when he moved his eyes too fast, but he recognized Bosco anyway. The man was distinctive.

“Shut your fool head, crazy.”

The sergeant had pulled an armchair next to his bed and was sprawled so his head rested on the back, focused on the TV mounted by the ceiling and fingers mashing buttons, except controlled-like because Need for Speed wasn’t really a button-mashing game and Bosco was too B.A. to button-mash a game he was good at.

“Hey.” He croaked.

Bosco’s head turned fast enough to make Murdock dizzy, then the game paused and the big guy stood up. “You’re awake.”

It was a good thing he had the big guy to tell him these things. But, and he frowned, if Bosco hadn’t known he was awake, why’d he been talking to him? He tried to ask, because talking to the comatosely unconscious was too close to talking to someone who wasn’t there for the Baracan one to feel comfortable and casual with, but his throat froze on the first word and only emitted static with the second.

“Here,” Bosco interrupted. A big, warm hand slipped under his head, and then a cool line was at his lips. Some of the water dribbled out the sides of his mouth before his lips and tongue and throat caught on to what he was supposed to be doing, which – ow – his throat was gonna be really sore when the meds started wearing off.

Bosco took the cup away when he tilted his head up, then laid him back carefully, dabbed the spilled water from his face and neck, and readjusted the covers.

Murdock grinned. “Aw, big guy.” He cleared his throat – had to agitate to reach the dry patches. “I knew you were just a big ol’ teddy bear.”

BA frowned and brandished a reflexive fist. They both knew he wasn’t gonna hit him while he was in the hospital. “Shut up, fool. I don’t need your crazy-ass jibber-jabber interrupting my game.” He dropped back into the armchair. “You save that stuff for Face.”

“Unless you want me to pound your ass.”

He blinked. “Wha’?”

BA frowned at him. “I said save that crazy rap for Face. I ain’t gonna deal with it.”

“Ah.” So why’d he think he’d heard Bosco say something else? “Where is the Faceman, huh?”

“Because you did, crazy.”

“He’s with Hannibal, tying up some lose ends.”

“Down here, crazy.”

It took a little stretching and wriggling and a few sharp twinges of pain (and what did he do, exactly, cause his memory was turning up blanks) but he finally tracked the voice to the apex of Bosco’s sprawled legs, where BA’s little soldier stood at attention and naked as the day he was born – if quite a bit bigger and in much better shape.

He licked his lips, felt the temperature sky-rocket. “Whacha doin’ out here, little guy?”

BA shot a scowl his way. “Who you talking to, fool?”

Murdock opened his mouth and blamed the pain meds for the fact he almost told the big guy the truth.

“Waitin’ for you, crazy. Just say the word and I’ll tap that.”

His mouth snapped shut. He felt the heat wash over him and could hear the heart monitor panicking but he couldn’t do anything. And how pathetic was it to have a panic attack over a talking dick?

He giggled. 

“Hey, hey! None of that.” Bosco leaned over, snapped his fingers in his face. “Cut that out, fool. You wanna lose it, you wait for Face.”

“Aw, Bosco—”

“Don’t you ‘aw, Bosco’ me, crazy fool.” He leaned back, his eyes ticking over Murdock’s hospital-clad body. “What you sitting up for?”

His throat clicked, his eyes flicked down. “Was lookin’ for Billy. One a the nurses musta let ‘im in. Wanna help ‘im up on the bed, big guy? Little guy wants to say ‘hello.’”

“You could say that again.”

“Ain’t no dog there, fool.” Bosco sat down.

Murdock really needed to find out what they were putting in his meds, because he was pretty sure the Little Soldier winked at him. He fell back. His body pulled him under before he found the energy to check.


	3. Facey

Someone was chattering in his ear. Murdock rolled to try to get it to go away, but the voice just followed him and he frowned. 

“Come on, Murdock, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. You wouldn’t leave a friend hanging, now, would you?”

He could and he would and he had every intention to— it had been a long day and a long night, repeated for greatest effect—but his eyes opened (damn!) to the familiar voice and the battle was lost. Lifting his head and attempting to blink sleep from his eyes, Murdock twisted to look at the clock.

3:15.

He was so setting the monkeys on Face tomorrow. Why couldn’t Faceman have come to bed earlier if he wanted to talk?

Murdock made an interrogative noise that was supposed to be “Yeah, what is it Face Guy?” but came out more as a grunting moan because his lips and tongue were still on strike and not accepting commands from his brain just yet.

Come on, guys, he thought. Snap to.

“Can you believe he went to sleep without taking care of me?”

Me—he—“Wha?”

“I know!” Face exclaimed. “He got us dressed up—and you know how hard that is in this sandbox—took us out, found this hot chick—who was totally willing to close the deal, and that’s even harder, you know—and then nothing. Nada. Now I’m horny as hell and he’s over here passed out. Where is the justice in that? I mean, what the hell, man? Just what the hell. You know?”

Murdock had rolled to get a better look at the man keeping him up, because if he was going to have involuntary insomnia he might as well get a picture as well as a show since he knew Face slept shirtless. It was dark, though. And while dark wasn’t usually an issue in these cases, it never being can’t-make-out-the-nose-on-your-face dark on an Army base that never sleeps despite being in the middle of the desert, it still took a moment for his brain to accept that what he was expecting to see wasn’t there and realize Face was sprawled on his back, arms akimbo, and fast asleep.

He stared. “Face?”

“Yeah, man?”

Except he didn’t move. His breathing didn’t change.

He wasn’t talking to him.

It figured a hallucination would wake him from the first good sleep he’d had in weeks. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

“Are you kidding, man? I’m stifling, here!”

Murdock stared at his dead-weight, blanket-covered best friend, nonplussed, because, seriously, he had a fairly active imagination and he’d kind of figured that if he ever hallucinated his best friend talking to him in the middle of the night that he’d at least sit up and grin at him, maybe clap him on the back, instead of taking the still-life, disembodied voice track. 

“Hey, HM. Think you could give a bud a hand?”

Roll with it, Jamie. “With what?”

“This blanket, man. I’m smothering, here.”

Which was when Murdock noticed the tent pushing up Face’s blanket. He watched, fascinated, as it bobbed, twitching beneath the covers.

No, he thought. No, no, no, nonono. He’d pushed himself further up the cot and against the wall without realizing it and wrapped his arms around his legs for good measure. The Boss and BA were one thing. When their dicks started talking to him it was weird and uncomfortable, and uncomfortably arousing, but disconnected, because he didn’t usually think of them like that. Face, though. Face was different. 

“Go away,” he told it. 

The movement stilled, dropped. He had a moment to think that might have worked, then that too-familiar voice whined: “Aw, HM. Don’t be like that.”

“I don’t wanna see you.”

“So close your eyes.” Li’l Face twitched. “C’mon, man. Help a bud out. I’m sweltering down here.”

For the second time that night, Murdock found himself answering that voice without any conscious input on his part. Just one moment he was pressed to the wall trying to figure out the best way to zap torturous penis hallucinations (and had narrowed it down to a choice between three meds and the space hamsters), and the next he was at Face’s bedside, cautiously pulling the blankets aside to reveal smooth, tan, very naked flesh and one very-much awake Facey.

Who stretched with the first touch of fresh air, seemingly straining towards his hand. “Now that’s more like it.” Did he just grin? “Say. You think you could give a guy a hand?”

Murdock pressed his hands firmly on the mattress. “You want me to jerk Face off while he sleeps.”

“No,” Facey said patiently, “I want you to jerk me off. He already had his chance.”

“That’s rape.” Face hadn’t given his permission. He was asleep. Date rape without the drugs. That was problematic both ways. 

“No, HM, that’s a happy ending.” He twitched toward Murdock’s hand again. “Trust me. He’ll enjoy it.”

Would he? Murdock’s eyes drifted from Facey to Face’s face. What was he saying? Face was a hedonist. Of course he’d enjoy a handjob. Whether or not he’d enjoy a handjob from Murdock, though, was in question. Murdock was pretty sure the con man was straight, after all, and straight men tended to get squirrelly about sexual contact from men, especially when they were in the military, what with Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and even when they were awake to be part of the process, and. 

He couldn’t imagine waking up to find your best male friend had jacked you off, without permission or input, would be better. 

But . . . wouldn’t Facey know what Face liked?

Oh, sure, Jamie-boy. Listen to the hallucination. That’s never gotten you in trouble before.

He grimaced, pulling back on himself instinctively, scraping his fingers across his palm to dislodge a knife that wasn’t there. Listening to hallucinations always caused trouble. 

“I’m not a hallucination, HM. Don’t be like that.”

He didn’t move. A hallucination would say that. 

“Look, bud. This is Face we’re talking about.” Facey pulled toward his hand. “Maybe just a little stroke, huh? He won’t know and you’ll be helping a bud out. Please, man? I’m miserable over here. Please? Pretty please?”

Third time’s the charm, he thought, and wasn’t sure who he was thinking it to because he hadn’t accomplished anything except failing to not-answer Face’s voice, even knowing it wasn’t really him. The ruination of the best friendship he’d ever had, perhaps. Because even as he screamed at himself to just go back to bed and pull his pillow over his ears (or over his face just in case he could figure out how to suffocate himself), he was watching his hand stretch toward that velvety flesh. 

That first contact was electric, his fingers just brushing the head—impossibly smooth—and he shivered. 

Face didn’t move.

Biting his lip, he slowly shifted his fingers so they curled around the con man’s length, pressing him firm into his palm. Then he stroked, tip to root.

Facey sighed, trembling a little in his hand. “God, yes, HM. Do that again.”

You’re going to hell, Jamie. But he pulled from root to tip, anyway, and threw in a twist on the downstroke.

Facey groaned. 

The sound short-circuited whatever control his mind still had on his body and the next stroke needed no encouragement. Twice, then again, and he swiped the pad of his thumb through the liquid gathering at Facey’s slit. Facey pushed into his hand.

Face moaned. “Murdock?”

Murdock snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. 

“Wha’ are you doin’?” Sleep dragged at his words and blurred his eyes. 

Bedroom eyes, Murdock thought, and that didn’t help at all. Say something, HM. He groped for words but couldn’t find any, so he was surprised when he heard himself say, “I was looking for my puppets, Faceman. Socky disappeared and Lefty gets lonely without him.”

Thank you, Lady Dymphna.

“Hmm.” Face yawned and stretched and didn’t seem to notice he was bared to his best friend’s eyes, dick pushing toward his face. “Don’t think you’re gonna find ‘em down there, bud.”

“Right, right. Sorry, Faceman.” He scuttled backwards without standing up first. “I’ll just—” He waved, even though Face wasn’t looking at him, and dove back into bed, pulling his blanket up to his chin. His cock was hard and throbbing and Face’s sleepy acknowledgment sent a jolt through it. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. Fuck. 

He laid awake the rest of the night, listening to Face breathe and hating himself.


	4. Little Captain

Murdock was at the flightline before Oh-five hundred and had been commandeered for a recon flight before Oh-six hundred. He was in the air with Major Westin riding shotgun, calling the shots, and two Lieutenants who were either in back fucking each other or taking pictures—he didn’t care which—before it occurred to him that he might should’ve left a note for the guys about where he was. Of course, by then it was too late.

“They’re smart,” said a voice from below him. “They’ll figure it out.”

He glanced at his crotch, relieved the Little Captain had remained under cover. “S’more considerate to leave a note, though.”

“Would’ve been more considerate not to leave at all,” LC countered, “considering you’re supposed to be off-duty.”

Murdock didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Besides, you didn’t know you were actually leaving when you left, so you wouldn’t have been able to tell them anything.”

While technically true—“I could’ve told them I was gonna be at the flightline.”

“Could you have told them you were hoping to get sent out because you didn’t jerk Face off last night?”

Murdock hissed. He was out here, flying a mission he didn’t need to be flying, so he didn’t have to think about that.

“No, you’re out here flying a mission you don’t need to be flying so you don’t have to face Face.” 

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

Murdock really wished the Iraqi desert was more visually stimulating. He firmly believed it would benefit from a few dragons lazing about in the sun, and a couple giant robots with laser-eyes wouldn’t hurt anything, either.

Unless you were hit with one. 

“He probably doesn’t even remember.”

“I remember.”

“I thought you were forgetting.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not thinking about it.”

There was a moment of silence as he remembered the way Face’s breath had deepened, Facey’s groan, the sleek warmth in his hand.

“How’s that going for you?” LC asked. 

Murdock growled. 

“Careful there, muchacho, the good Major’s gonna think you’re crazy.”

“You’re the one who’s talking.”

“You’re the one who’s answering.”

He huffed in irritation and brought the chopper around following Major Westin’s gesture because he hadn’t caught any of the man’s words, just like he was doing his best not to catch the man’s sidelong glances.

Ignorance was bliss.

Unless it was while flying over enemy territory. Spacing out over enemy was a good way to get himself killed and the guys after his hide—even if the Big Guy was the only one who’d actually take the pound of flesh, metaphorically speaking. Hannibal would just frown and explain why vigilance was important and Face would give him the silent treatment. 

He preferred BA’s method, really. He could win his way free with some coconut tapenade. 

“There, Captain.” Murdock congratulated himself for actually hearing the command and angled the chopper to better follow the man’s direction, heading toward the speck steadily resolving into blocky structures on the horizon. “Circle wide.”

He did. The flying was boring and predictable, and would have been less boring and predictable if it was Hannibal and Face flying with him because he could have thrown in a barrel roll for fun, but it was better than not flying and facing Face. He made sure to watch out for stray missile launchers amid the buildings while he flew a holding pattern for the guys in back (who were hopefully taking pictures instead of fucking, but they weren’t talking so he couldn’t be sure), because it would be hard to explain to Hannibal why he was dead instead of chilling with his feet in Face’s kiddie pool on his day off.

LC didn’t say anything until they were heading back, mission accomplished, even though the silence pressed heavy between them.

“You could just tell him, you know.”

Telling him would make it real. “Face is straight.” And if it was real, he didn’t think he could watch Face with Officer’s wives and Merchant’s daughters and know he’d never have a chance. 

“Sure,” LC said, “there’s empirical evidence for that—” Murdock shot the little guy a dark look as he felt/heard the rasp of a zipper. “—but, I mean, the dude’s in the Army and a con man. It’s not the kind of thing you flaunt.”

“Which is exactly why I’m not telling him.” Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

“’Cause you’re chicken?”

His lips tightened, so did the muscles in his arms. He hadn’t heard that taunt in fifteen years, not since Ranger training and flight school, where crazy had replaced chicken irrevocably, yet, even coming from his dick, the taunt still had the power to irritate him. How ridiculous was that? It was the kind of shit that should come with a statute of limitations. 

“I mean, it’s not like he’s going to tell anyone.”

“That only works if the person I’m supposed to be telling isn’t the one I don’t want to know.”

“He probably already knows you’re gay, you know.”

“Shut—”

“Hey!

Murdock flinched hard—both at the voice and the hand that suddenly flailed before his face—sliding the bird into a sideways swoop before he recovered it, realizing he’d been hearing Major Westin’s voice for a while now, beating in his ears like a heavy fist. 

He dared a glance. 

The major’s expression was weird—kind of stiff and anxious, like he was afraid Murdock would start drooling on himself or take an axe to his body parts and wasn’t sure talking to him wouldn’t be the thing that set him off. “You okay, man?”

How much had he heard?

Murdock sucked a breath and held it, gritted his words past clenched teeth: “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Exhale, three count, inhale, two count, repeat—until his head stopped floating and the black spots left his eyes alone, and the fat man got off his chest. 

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded for emphasis. Wasn’t sure he should have when it felt jerky and weird. 

Murdock saw the base coming up and wasn’t sure if he wanted this flight to be over or to go on forever. 

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing, him knowing.”

Still fighting the black spots and the shakes that liked to come after, he didn’t answer. But he knew it would be. Once Face knew, Hannibal would know, and while he didn’t think Hannibal would freak out about it, he didn’t want to find out he was wrong, either. 

And that assumed Face wouldn’t. Which he didn’t.

“You should just fuck him already.”

The strangled sound he made earned an alarmed look from Major Westin. 

“Or, you know, the other way works, too. I’m not picky.”

Crashing this chopper would be the coward’s way out, Murdock reminded himself, but it would shut LC up. Probably. A bullet to the brain would probably work better.

“Don’t hate the messenger, man,” LC said into the tense silence. “I’m just saying. I want action. You don’t want to do the casual thing. So. You should tell him.”

It wasn’t a long flight back to base from that point, but the whole way Murdock kept waiting for another little guy to show up and argue the other side so he’d know if LC was posing as the Good Angel or the Bad Angel, ‘cause then he’d know what to do. 

He’d know if LC would just sprout a pair of horns.


	5. Lefty and Righty

Pike had a people-disappearing button. It was the only explanation Murdock had for how him and his Private Sector goons could trap him, no one else around to bear witness, in the middle of an Army base they didn’t really have any business being in. 

The way they stared around and sneered you’d think they were afraid they’d catch leprosy. 

Of course, it was also possible the earth gods had gotten in a tiff with the sky gods and decided to take it out on poor little ol’ innocent him. He preferred the first option, personally, and not because he had a problem with being in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. No, it was because Pike might have the button on him (he’s just used it to arrange this little farce, yes?) and he might be able to get it away from him. There were any number of ways it could come in useful.

“Look at that, boys,” Pike said, all hard and haughty and overly pleased—liked he’d actually done something clever. How clever was it to either use a tool or be one? “The loony’s lost.”

Murdock narrowed his eyes at the action flick wanna-be (black in the desert, really?) and ticked through his options. Try and leave? Play nice? Treatise on the effective value of valium? Sing Sweet Home Alabama? Give ‘em a puppet show?

He had to admit that, between one thing and another—Face and LC and Major Westin goin’ straight for Morrison after they set down—he was in the mood for something a bit more confrontational than his usual bag. 

So he smiled pretty. “’Fraid you must be lookin’ in a mirror, then, Pikey-boy. I’m just a little off-center, north by northwest, and just where I’m supposed to be.”

“The little shit’s off-center, all right,” Black Forest Goon One (numbering from left to right ‘cause the only distinguishing feature between them was Pike’s eyebrows) said, and fuck if that wasn’t a mouthful. One, Two, Three, Four it was, then. 

“Think it’d help any if we knocked some sense in?” Four asked. Two and Three, flanking Pike like the Royal Guard, laughed—though snickered was probably more accurate. 

“You know,” Murdock said, quickly deciding a lecture on manners would be wasted here, “that was pretty good. Hardly original—I think I first heard that one in Middle School. But, hey, that means you’re moving up in the world. Graduated and everything.”

“Shut up, fag.” Snapped, liked, and oooh, Murdock thought. Four didn’t like his intelligence belittled. 

Murdock bounced on his toes. “Also not original. In fact, that one’s pretty much standard—”

“Hey, jerk off.” Pike advanced all . . . stalker-ish, and Murdock tilted his head the better to tell the angles. “Me and my boys are gonna beat your face in and have a little fun. And if you don’t wanna be singing soprano the rest of your life, you’ll shut the fuck up.”

Murdock tried to discern (after ticking off the fact the Bad Guy Trope was in full effect) from the man’s eyes if Pike had really just declared he was going to rape him, which—come on. In the middle of base in the open? Unless the man honestly thought he’d just lay down and beg for it, he had to know there was no way that was gonna happen.

“Ugh,” said a squeaky little voice, and Murdock’s eyes were drawn to Pike’s eyebrows, which were---wriggling? “That was so tasteless.”

“I know, right?” The second, while not as high, was just as squeaky, and Murdock blinked as they kind of perched, kind of sat up. “The guy’s got no manners.”

“You’d think if he wanted to fuck him so badly, he’d at least try and ask nicely.”

Murdock had never had the impression Pike wanted to fuck him. Him, as person. Now, him as bat-shit crazy weakest link on the A-Team that Pike hated for some inexplicable reason—yeah, he could see that. 

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” Lefty-eyebrow agreed. 

“But, no,” Righty squeaked. “He had to go and be a jerk.”

“Just like with that Rogers fellow.”

“And Stevens before him.”

“And Cathaway before her.”

“God.” Righty squirmed. “It makes me embarrassed to know the guy, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” Lefty-eyebrow shuddered. “And it’s not like we can take a back seat or anything. We’re, like, right there.”

“God.” Righty shuddered. 

“You know what? We should leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah! I mean, he’s a douche, right? So fuck him.”

“Ewwww.” Then Righty giggled. “Actually, that might help.”

“Ew,” Lefty-eyebrow protested. “I so did not need that mental image.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

Murdock didn’t realize he was giggling, high and pitchy, until hard hands shook him, but Pike’s eyebrows were doing the electric slide on his forehead, so he couldn’t stop.

“Someone shut him up,” Pike ordered, stepping back and releasing him as One and Four took over. What were Two and Three for, then? “I’ll never understand how the Army lets this reject keep his wings.”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Pikey.” Murdock grinned as the man growled because, honestly? He’d left himself open for that one. He should have expected it, should have seen it coming. 

“Bet you won’t be such a smart-ass with my dick buried in your ass.”

Well, at least they were all on the same page now. No possibility of misunderstanding there. 

“Yeah?” Murdock’s grin was all teeth and he batted his eyes ‘cause he got the impression he was supposed to be scared at that. “If you’re sure I’ll feel it, I mean, because you know size is everything.”

“You’ll feel it.” Apparently, Pike had exhausted his witty repertoire—and Murdock expected better, really, from a man who’d snarked them so irritatingly in the past—because he shoved him, which was the signal, empirically, for One and Four to start leading him away.

Not in the middle of the road, then.

He twisted to try to keep Pike in sight. “And where are you takin’ me for our first date, darlin’ dear? But you’ve forgotten the roses. And the chocolate. You know I can’t get in the mood without chocolate. It’s an aphrodisiac, you know. We could even share, help you with that little problem you have.”

He bit his tongue when One snacked the back of his head, tasted blood, and grinned. “I’m not really into that whole BDSM thing,” he told the man, before calling over his shoulder: “It’s really not very considerate bringing ex-boyfriends into the bedroom, Brock-dear. You have to take into consideration my sensibilities.”

“You should always take into account your date’s sensibilities, Pike,” a familiar voice crooned behind him. Murdock’s stomach kind of flip-flopped. “And, you know, dragging your date off kind of went out with the cave men.”

Pike growled. “So Smith let you off your leash, then? Careless of him.”

Pike was too dumb to fidget, but his goons weren’t as immune and started casing the corners, hands biting-tight and bodies arm’s length away. Hannibal Smith’s reputation in action. 

Murdock grinned. “No, no, no. You’re doing it wrong,” he said. “You’re supposed to say something nice, maybe about how blue his eyes are. The girls always like the eyes.”

Pike growled again, and Murdock knew if he’d been closed he would’ve been clocked. As it was, he couldn’t turn his back on Face. 

Murdock shared a grin with the con man, caught his breath at the warmth that jolted through him. Fuck.

“That’s the idea,” LC whispered. 

“What’s the matter, Pike?” Face asked. “You run out of ass on your side?”

“That’s rich, coming from you, Peck,” Pike snarled. “There actually anyone on this base you haven’t fucked yet?”

“Aw, Brock,” Murdock said. “You don’ wanna make digs outta stuff the guy’s proud of. I mean, you’re talkin’ to the Faceman. Ain’t a body on base wouldn’t go for that if’n he asked ‘em.”

Murdock could have bitten his tongue clean off, then, especially when he caught the look that flashed over Face’s face, but just forced a blithely ignorant manic grin instead. Wondered if Face would believe it was just his meds talking.

“That’s right,” Face agreed easily. “Not really something the average man is up to, though, so how about you boys just crawl back to your little tents and face masks and other creature comforts and leave the real work to us, hmmm?”

No one moved.

Murdock wondered if Pike was waiting for Hannibal to rise from the shadows, too, brandish the Kraken and reign superior, or if he just needed the extra time to process Face’s words.

“How about you make us,” Pike said finally, rocking to the balls of his feet and shaking out his arms. 

Face shrugged casually, caught Murdock’s eye. “Fine by me.”

They moved at the same time.

Murdock twisted and kicked back while he got his teeth over foreign flesh and bit. Both released him. While the first went down, howling and clutching his knee, the other just recoiled with a curse. Murdock followed him. One, two, three. He flopped like a fish on the sand and went still. Murdock turned to the man who was still groaning.

Then someone jumped on his back.

Murdock stumbled two steps—kicking buckets of sand into his boots, by the way—then bent double before his knees buckled, dumping his assailant to the ground. The man rolled with it and swept a foot at Murdock’s ankles, but he’d expected that and jumped back. When he landed, he kicked sand into the man’s face.

No one ever expected the good guys to fight dirty.

The goon—Two? Three?—flinched and clenched his eyes, raised his hands to his face. Flowing forward, Murdock socked him in the gut then, when he bent over, brought his fists down between his shoulder blades.

Down and out, which left. . . .

Murdock whirled. Face and Pike were squared off, the last goon slumped in the sand near their feet. Face’s lip was split. Murdock couldn’t tell if Pike was hurt or not, presented as he was with the man’s backside, but he wasn’t really interested in seeing this play out. And if Hanniabl couldn’t make it to the party to put a stop to it, Murdock would.

He appropriated a Sig and racked the slide—glanced at the still-moaning Four and got wide eyes and a dual attempt to scoot back and prone out that scooped a lot of sand—then strode forward and put it to the back of Pike’s head. “You’d better freeze, sucker, or hope your home boy carries blanks.”

Pike froze.

Face didn’t.

Hallelujah.


End file.
